


A Poet Under Pressure

by tomanonuniverse



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: A Poet Under Pressure, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Rare Pairings, Relationship Reveal, Rescue Missions, Reunions, Reveal, Secret Relationship, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25381597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomanonuniverse/pseuds/tomanonuniverse
Summary: For a moment, Geralt thinks the stress of being kidnapped and nearly executed was getting to his friend. But then his eyes land on the man who stood behind him, the very familiar elven Scoia'tael commander. He hears Zoltan make a choked noise of surprise while Priscilla remains wisely calm and silent, though mostly out of confusion.
Relationships: Iorveth/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	A Poet Under Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of my favorite Iorweth ships, if not my actual absolute favorite, and the fact that it doesn't even have a goddamn ship tag on ao3 saddens me very, VERY much. i take a hammer and FIX the tag—
> 
> EDIT: i caved and changed the names to the gameverse names dfskjhsdkjghdfs

The amount of times that Geralt has told Dandelion that he knows fuck all is indefinite. Most of the time, he’s right about it. Dandelion is a troubadour. His knowledge on monsters, on war, on witchers, and many other things was limited. He’d spout things he thought were the nail on the coffin, only for Geralt to explain to him how fucking stupid what he said was as gently as the witcher could. That is to say, not gently at all.

Except this time, Geralt is the one who feels like he knows fuck all. Right now, Dandelion is being held prisoner and is awaiting execution— not unusual— by one of the biggest crime lords in all of Novigrad—  _ very  _ unusual— and it’s up to Geralt, Zoltan, and Dudu (and Priscilla, apparently) to free him before he meets an untimely demise.

After killing the witch hunter who dragged Dandelion off on his horse and rescuing the bard, the man began to explain himself with too many words, though Geralt patiently let him dawdle. For once, the details of this story aren’t unnecessary. Any hint or clue to finding Cirilla would be very much appreciated.

As he recounts his story, Dandelion leans back onto the wall of the hut he was just tied up within and sighs almost wistfully. “Ah, what an adventure!” He exclaims happily, even with Priscilla glaring daggers into him. “One minute we were pulling off the heist of the century, the next we were prey, a pack of hun—”

Suddenly, he stops. Geralt frowns at his sudden silence, briefly wondering if he’d choked, before he tenses as Dandelion shoots to his feet. He looks at something behind the witcher with wide eyes and jaw agape. As he turns around to see what it is, his hand snaking towards the hilt of his sword, he hears the bard squawk a shocked  _ “Iorveth?!” _

For a moment, Geralt thinks the stress of being kidnapped and nearly executed was getting to his friend. But then his eyes land on the man who stood behind him, the very familiar elven Scoia'tael commander. He hears Zoltan make a choked noise of surprise while Priscilla remains wisely calm and silent, though mostly out of confusion.

_ “Julian,”  _ Iorveth breathes, sounding strangely relieved, and Geralt feels his eyebrows shoot into his hairline. What the  _ fuck? _

As he stalks forward towards them, Dandelion sputters. “Iorveth, what on earth are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Vergen with Saskia and the others? You told me you were all planning your next move, I expected you to be halfway across the Continent by now! Did you not receive my—  _ mmph!” _

Zoltan makes another choking sound as Iorveth grabs Dandelion by the face and pulls him up into a desperate kiss. Priscilla gasps in surprise and even Geralt can’t be bothered to pick his jaw up off of the floor. Dandelion stares with wide eyes for a moment, then they slowly slide shut as he wraps his arms around the archer’s shoulders and softly kisses him back.

The kiss lasts uncomfortably long for the witnessing parties but neither Iorveth nor Dandelion seem to mind in the slightest. At least it’s not getting heated, Geralt thanks whatever gods are watching. Eventually, the two have to part, what with the need to breathe and all of that, and Dandelion stares at Iorveth with reddening cheeks.

“I… suppose that’s one way to tell our friends about us,” he laughs airly, tucking back some of Iorveth’s hair that rebelled out of his bandana. The elf doesn’t say anything and simply wraps his arms around the troubadour’s waist, holding him tight to his chest and burying his face into the shorter man’s neck.

Dandelion laughs again, this time a little nervously, as he glances at the still choking Zoltan and the very bewildered Geralt and Priscilla. He opens his mouth to speak, but the elf beats him to it. 

“You send me a  _ letter,” _ he starts lowly, tone sounding just as very clipped and displeased and dangerous as Geralt remembers it, “telling me you are about to do  _ “something stupid,” _ not even clarifying  _ what,  _ just that it might end in us never seeing each other again, and you expect me not to drop everything and come to your aid?”

The bard’s lips part in surprise, then his eyes soften and he pushes the elf back so he could look at him. “Iorveth…” He coos,  _ fucking coos,  _ at one of the leaders of the godsdamned Scoia'tael, and cups his face in his hands. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that, my love. I… honestly didn’t expect you to even get the letter.”

_ My love?  _ Geralt is fucking  _ dizzy. _

It doesn’t seem to be the right thing to say because Iorveth tightens his grips on him and sneers. “So, what? Was I just supposed to happen upon the information that you’re  _ dead _ the next time I come to visit you in Novigrad? Was that your master plan,  _ bard?” _

“That’s not what I meant, Iorveth,” he tells him almost chastisingly. “My so-called “master plan” was that this would all blow over before you even caught air of it. I only sent the letter as a precaution in case everything actually went to shit, which it admittedly did. But not to worry, Geralt was here to save the day!”

As if suddenly remembering that they were not the only two people in the world, Iorveth slowly turns his head to the White Wolf, who’s still staring at them both in disbelief. His eyes scan over to Zoltan, then to Priscilla, then finally return to Dandelion. He looks at him with a completely blank expression as he speaks.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

The words startle a laugh out of the troubadour, who clings onto his elven lover’s neck and shakes his head fondly. “Ah, if only that were possible, my dear,” he sighs, sounding genuinely saddened by the fact that it wasn’t. “You have your duties and I have mine, Iorveth. The world isn’t going to stop turning because I keep nearly getting myself killed.”

Iorveth snorts at that. “You’re right, it’s not. But it’s also not going to stop turning if I’m not personally leading the fights,” he retorts. Dandelion’s face slackens in disbelief and he looks at Iorveth in shock. The elf tilts his head and cocks a brow. “Was it not you who always told me that I should retire eventually? When I received your letter, I left my unit in capable hands and made it very clear I might not return.  _ I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” _

_ “Iorveth,”  _ Dandelion murmurs, his eyes glistening with tears. When the archer purses his lips and nods, as if confirming his lover’s unspoken question, the bard jumps upwards and kisses him again, holding him tight and pushing into him so hard he other had to take a small steadying step backwards in order not to topple over.

“Alright! I’ve had enough of this!” Zoltan shouts and the two break apart, clearly startled at having their moment shattered by a very indignant dwarf. “Will you two stop neckin’ at each other an’ start explainin’ to me what the ploughin’ ‘ell is goin’ on?!”

The elven commander looks at him and scowls. “And what reason do we have to explain ourselves to  _ you?” _

“Iorveth!” Dandelion chides, and the elf frowns again but backs down. Zoltan and Geralt share disbelieving glances while the troubadour sighs. “It’s… Maybe we can talk about it over a drink? At the Rosemary and Thyme. I think a juicy roast and a soft bed with fluffy pillows is the least I’m owed after the day I’ve had.”

Priscilla lets out a string of laughs. “I’ve a feeling I’m going to need  _ several  _ drinks for  _ this  _ conversation.”

**Author's Note:**

> iorweth meeting jaskier in flotsam: ive had this dhoine bard for one day and if anything happens to him i kill everybody on this ship then myself


End file.
